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A Dream of Hope and Sorrow: Book One of the Druid Saga
A Dream of Hope and Sorrow: Book One of the Druid Saga
A Dream of Hope and Sorrow: Book One of the Druid Saga
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A Dream of Hope and Sorrow: Book One of the Druid Saga

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The Reverie - a magically constructed world accessible only through a few ancient doorways. Sasha's new home backs onto a forest that houses just one such portal. The young woman's dreams have been strange and mysterious of late, and in the waking hours she finds herself travelling paths walked while sleeping - paths that lead her to the old stone doorway. On the other side she is immersed in a world of druids and magic and fantastical creatures. The stoic and handsome Desmond serves as her guide to this mystical place.

But there is a darker side to the Reverie. The druid clans exist in this simple world, vying to increase their holdings and power. Some of the clans are more devious than others, using steel, sorcery, and subterfuge to achieve their aims. Sasha finds her entrancing adventure suddenly halted when she stumbles into the conflicts that rage between clans. Even Desmond, a powerful druid, can't protect her when tensions break and war washes over the Reverie.

Sasha walks a path fraught with danger - both from the people who inhabit the strange world, and from the harsh winter elements that surround her. Armed with only her resolve and a somewhat rudimentary understanding of magic, Sasha is forced to fight for her survival, only to realize that she may have a much larger role to play in the events around her.

Will she survive the primal and brutal conditions of the Reverie and its people? Will she reach the end of her path and uncover her purpose in this place?

LanguageEnglish
Release dateFeb 2, 2013
ISBN9781301595846
A Dream of Hope and Sorrow: Book One of the Druid Saga
Author

Jonathan Crocker

I was born in St. John’s, Newfoundland, Canada on September 22, 1980 – I guess that’s as good a place as any to start a description of my life. I didn’t last long in Newfoundland, though, as my parents whisked my sister and I away to Ottawa in 1983. I’ve been living in the same neighbourhood ever since. My interest in stories goes back as far as I can remember – my mother assures me that I started reading at a very young age (Hooked on Phonics worked for me?). I think I still have a copy of The Little Engine That Could lying around somewhere. From there I moved on to mystery stories, like The Hardy Boys and Encyclopedia Brown. But it wasn’t until my early high school days that I discovered a real passion for books – when I first read The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien. That led, naturally, to The Lord of the Rings, and I realized that my personal tastes were very much in tune with the fantasy genre. I guess that it wasn’t much of a leap from there to acquire an interest in writing stories of my own. My grade 9 english teacher, Mr. Mageau, was the first person that I recall pointing out to me that I had a talent for writing. And my grade 11 (and 13) english teacher, Mr. Fromow, helped foster that talent – each of Mr. Fromow’s classes started with a 5-10 minute period where the students wrote in their writing portfolios. There were no directions or rules or instructions at all – just write. About anything. It was a very eye-opening experience for me, and I think that was what first spurred me to write for enjoyment. Despite that awakening, it wasn’t until my final year of university – when I was living, once again, in St. John’s for a year, attending teacher’s college – that I attempted to write a novel. You won’t find that novel available on this site, but I considered it a major accomplishment, and a milestone in my life. It led to the novels that are available on this site. My real life, on the other hand, has not progressed as smoothly. I entered university, in 1999, to study electrical engineering. It was a choice based not on what subject I enjoyed, but rather on what I felt presented the best job prospects. But it didn’t take long at all to realize that I would never be happy spending the rest of my life designing computer circuits or hydro vaults. So I made the fairly dramatic change to study english literature. Armed with my Bachelor of Arts, I then attended teacher’s college to become a full-fledged high school english teacher – just like those that had inspired me before. A new problem arose then – there weren’t really any teaching jobs to be had. I spent a few years supply teaching, but that wasn’t paying the bills (I didn’t actually have any bills, since I still lived with my parents – which is probably worse). So somehow, I was able to luck into a contract job with the department of Public Works, working as a project manager for real property construction projects. I’ve been doing that work ever since. I don’t know if it’s some sort of cosmic joke that the universe is playing on me, but I ended up in a job that is normally done by engineers. When I was an engineering student, nobody ever told me that project management was a potential career path. I enjoy my work, and I enjoy my writing, and I suppose that that’s all that I can really ask for.

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    A Dream of Hope and Sorrow - Jonathan Crocker

    A DREAM OF HOPE AND SORROW

    Book One of the Druid Saga

    By Jonathan Crocker

    Copyright © 2012 Jonathan Crocker

    All rights reserved.

    Cover Art by Tyler Edlin

    Read all the books in the Druid Saga!

    A Dream of Hope and Sorrow - Book One

    A Long and Restless Slumber - Book Two

    A Deep, Enduring Reverie - Book Three

    Other works by Jonathan Crocker:

    The Hummingbird Series

    Out of Fire - Hummingbird: Book One

    Out of Phase - Hummingbird: Book Two

    Out of Time - Hummingbird: Book Three

    Prologue

    The boy could see his breath in the air, his body stilled by the biting chill upon the night. He had little desire to be this deep into the forest, let alone halfway up the mountains, but when his master beckoned, he followed. And Graumin had beckoned.

    He had been following Graumin deeper and deeper into the dark of the woods for over a week, the pair making slow progress. The confines of the lighter copses of trees had been left far behind, and now there was naught but dense, thick brush to penetrate. There were no roads or trails this far in. They made their own path, Graumin hacking away at the overgrowth with an old handaxe, the boy nimble enough to navigate most of the limbs and branches, roots and rocks.

    Keep up back there, Graumin snarled over his shoulder. He didn’t bother to turn and see whether or not the boy made any additional haste.

    Graumin was a gruff man, one of the oldest in their clan, though he didn’t seem his age. He wasn’t overly tall, but he had a stocky and imposing figure, and a menacing disposition. As Graumin waved his torch back and forth, the boy could make out his elder’s thick garments. As with all members of the clan, Graumin wore a fine cloak about his shoulders, dangling down his back past his buttocks. The cloak was made of black silk, and was emblazoned with the image of an arachnid, eight legs spreading nearly to the edges of the cloak itself. Upon closer inspection, one might find that the silk even possessed a web-like design. Some day the boy would wear a similar cloak.

    The boy glanced around, only being able to see a dozen feet or so in any direction thanks to the light of his torch. The trees were thick about the trunk, and the limbs and branches tightly packed together overhead. This far north the sky was constantly dark, the sunlight rarely so much as peeking over the horizon. Nighttime in the woods that he was used to was alive with the constant silvery-blue glow of moonlight dancing between the trees. But not here – here it was just black. Were it not for the fire they carried, he would have been blind. And the forest seemed eerily quiet, too. He was accustomed to the presence of thousands of animals nearby, and many times that number of insects. But not here – here it was just silent.

    Legend told that the first trees had grown on the slopes of these mountains, and spread from there to cover all the world in green. These were the oldest trees alive, and most of the boy’s clan would have savoured the opportunity to stand beneath these boughs. But not him – the boy just wanted to leave. The trees were old and gnarled, and there was a strangeness to this place that he didn’t like one bit. Even the air itself tasted foul on his tongue.

    Sir, the boy called ahead, as Graumin had continued on. Sir, should we be turning back soon, sir? It’s a good ten days hike back to the village, and we’ve the stores only for half that.

    It was true enough – Graumin hadn’t expected their journey to take this long.  They had set out with a pair of horses, laden down with saddlebags enough to carry their gear and supplies. But three days back, when they had left the beaten trails, the horses were unable to continue through the brush. Graumin had let the horses go, either to find their way back home, or to wander, free of human bonds. So not only was the trek on foot, over difficult terrain, much more arduous, but they now had to carry heavy packs as well.

    The glare that the boy caught in the glow of Graumin’s torchlight was enough of an answer to his question, although he was relieved when the older man declared that they could stop and make camp for the night.

    The boy heaved his pack to the ground, and it landed atop the fresh layer of snow that covered the area. The snow wasn’t deep enough to hamper their progress, but it was a stark reminder of the long night ahead. The boy could only sigh as he went about setting up the campfire, one of the many duties tasked to him by his elder.

    Ordinarily, fire was a welcome companion to the boy when out in the wilds at night. But so deep into this strange and eerie wood, the boy was apprehensive about what a fire might attract – there must be a reason no animals ventured near, after all. What if there were something scaring them away?

    Don’t worry, boy, Graumin snarled. There’s nothing can hurt us here.

    He seemed confident, but it did little to lessen the boy’s worries.

    Mister Graumin, sir, the boy began as he stoked the small, newborn flames. Do you think we’ll really find it, sir? The cave, I mean? You don’t think it’s just stories, sir?

    Graumin glanced up over the fire, his grizzled face and wild beard a frightening sight in the flickering light. His eyes were narrowed at the boy.

    You know better than that, boy.

    We’re deep now, though, sir. It doesn’t seem like it could be too much further, does it?

    Graumin let his eyes wander towards the darkness that surrounded them. His breathing was slow and steady, the night air misting in front of his mouth with each breath. They could barely make out the trees, though they were sitting right in the middle of a dozen of them.

    We’re close, the man stated.

    How can you tell?

    I can feel it. So can you.

    The boy paused – could he feel it? He couldn’t feel much of anything at all, save for the cold biting at his extremities. Although he could still sense the queerness of the place that he had noted earlier – was that what Graumin was talking about?

    He wanted to keep talking, to learn more, but he knew better than to press Graumin. Instead the boy leaned in closer to the fire – he could feel the cold much keener now that they were just sitting instead of walking.

    They had set the camp up in short order, having done it for many nights in a row now, though this was by far the darkest and coldest. It likely wasn’t an ideal location for a camp, but they didn’t have much choice, and there were only so many places with enough clear and flat ground to lie down. There wasn’t much to their camp anyway – two bedrolls, two blankets, the campfire, and what little food they had left. Normally the boy wouldn’t have been concerned about their food stores, the forest usually being a plentiful source of sustenance – but the absence of animals meant no available meat. And he wasn’t sure that leaves and berries and twigs would provide enough energy for the march back home.

    The boy watched as Graumin slipped into his bedroll, the gruff man hauling the blanket up and over his back. His pack was on the ground beside him, and lying atop it was his old handaxe. The handle was about a foot long and was carved out of some sort of bone that sported the intricate design of numerous spiders crawling about it. There were a few notches in the blade, and it looked quite worn, but the boy knew better. That axe had been in Graumin’s family for generations. It had slain giants, and hacking its way through some dense brush wasn’t going to damage it.

    The thought of giants suddenly unnerved the boy. He had never seen a giant himself, but stories told of the giants dwelling in caves among the foothills of the mountains – the same mountain foothills that they were now moving through. His eyes darted to the darkness that seemed to swallow the camp. He had the sudden impulse to put out the fire. It was certain to draw their doom down upon them – giants, or worse. He almost did it, but he knew that it would upset Graumin. So he just sat there on the cold ground, pulled his knees up against his chest, and held on tightly.

    Sleep didn’t come easy to the boy. He rocked back and forth on the ground for many hours, the cold still nipping away at his face, the flickering of the fire slowly dwindling away, darkness creeping in over the camp. His eyes scanned the tree line constantly, occasionally coming to rest on Graumin’s sleeping form, buried beneath blanket and bedroll.

    The boy’s breath came more slowly, his eyes began to droop, and exhaustion overtook him. He fell asleep in his sitting position, his chin resting atop his knees. His dreams were filled with giants and dragons and whatever other nightmares inhabited the minds of frightened boys.

    The fire flickered its last flames, leaving naught but smoking embers in the center of the camp. The darkness was upon them, as Graumin slept soundly beneath his warm blankets, and the boy slept much less so, his body trembling slightly in the cold as even his furs couldn’t keep him warm. The minutes crept by as the black night hovered over the pair, biding its time, the stillness and that eerie silence ever present. The old and gnarled trees towered about them, unseen, breaking the silence with an occasional creak or rustle of barren branches.

    A strange and sudden sound penetrated the night air and the boy’s eyes shot open. It wasn’t a loud sound, more of a whisper in the night, but the boy heard it keenly enough that it woke him. He didn’t move, and he silently cursed himself for not tending the fire, as he could see nothing but black in any direction. The sound was gone and hadn’t repeated, but the boy knew that he had heard it. He tried to slow his rapid breathing, his heartbeats pounding in his eardrums. Despite the cold, his palms felt sweaty as he listened intently. And then he heard it again – it sounded almost like voices, just out of earshot. Were there people about? Or was the wind playing tricks with his mind?

    He wasn’t sure if he should move, if he should try to wake Graumin. In the end he thought it best to keep silent and still, not wanting to draw any attention to their presence – perhaps the loss of their fire was a good thing after all. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to locate something, anything. Surely if there were other people about, they would have to be carrying torches. Unless the sounds weren’t voices at all.

    The boy pulled his knees even tighter into his chest. He heard the sound for a third time, and he felt paralyzed as the whispers seemed to be getting closer. On a sudden impulse, he turned his neck and peered over his shoulder. There was a soft glimmer of light beyond the nearest trees. He felt his eyes widen and his chest tighten. Forgetting his attempt at perfect silence, the boy skittered away from the light and forward into the camp, his knees shuffling right over the still-hot embers of their former fire. He stumbled as the heat pained him, but did well not to cry out, not to make any sound at all. He just rolled out of the fire pit, across the snow, and slammed into the back of his sleeping companion.

    Graumin grunted in his sleep but didn’t appear to wake. When the boy again heard the sounds, much louder this time, he reached back and grabbed the older man, shaking him frantically. This time Graumin snorted and blinked and was about to curse the boy for waking him until he noticed the pale glow emanating from just beyond their blackened camp.

    My axe, boy, Graumin muttered, as he went about tossing his blankets from atop his body and slipping himself out of his bedroll.

    The boy fumbled around to find Graumin’s pack and lying atop it was the handaxe. As he handed the axe to the now-standing man, the boy glanced towards the woods beyond the camp. The strange glow was brighter now, and he could make it out as a golden hue in colour. He might have mistaken it for the sunrise, except for the fact that he hadn’t seen a sunrise in days – they were too deep into the old forest.

    Sir, what is that, sir? the boy mumbled.

    Graumin just grunted as his fingers tightened around the axe handle.

    Sir?

    Stay close, boy.

    Graumin took a bold step towards the light and the whispering sound grew louder.

    Are there people out there, sir?

    Graumin didn’t answer, didn’t acknowledge the boy in any way. The man’s lips were moving subtly, but the boy didn’t hear any words. Then there was a bright flash of light, and when it faded, Graumin and the boy were surrounded. There were figures all about them, soft, glowing figures, the same colour as the pale golden light. They were tall and had the form of men. The boy squinted his eyes, trying to get a better look – the figures didn’t look human at all. But what else could they be? They were moving now, towards Graumin and the boy. But they weren’t walking as a man might. Instead they seemed to float across the snowy ground.

    The boy could feel his heart racing – this was definitely worse than giants.

    Sir… are they ghosts, sir?

    The boy barely got the question out, his breath was coming in such gasps. He watched in horror as the nearest figure closed on Graumin. The man slashed out with his axe, a wide sweeping arc that struck the figure square in the chest – or would have, except that the axe passed right through the figure’s incorporeal form. The boy heard himself gasp aloud at the sight.

    What were they going to do? They couldn’t even fight back. Surely they were doomed. What could they do against an army of ghosts?

    Stay close, boy, Graumin muttered once more, but the boy’s attention was lost. His head was turning from side to side, his neck craning about. His eyes were wide and unblinking as he scrambled about on the ground, trying to keep Graumin between himself and whatever ghostly figure seemed to be moving in his direction.

    Stay sill, boy!

    The boy heard Graumin muttering beneath his breath, words that sounded vaguely familiar, yet entirely foreign. The boy spun his head around to see a figure only feet away, the gold light washing over his face. He panicked and fell backwards on his rear, his legs pushing him away in the snow only to have his body shuffle right through the legs of another spirit. There was a cold sensation, almost a numbing, as his flesh passed through that ghostly form. The boy felt a chill, and not from the cool night air. He knew that he was doomed.

    A number of things happened all at the same time: several of the spirits made a ghastly howling noise as they flew towards Graumin, who still clutched his axe in his fingers; A fire erupted in Graumin’s other hand, but the flames were a pale bluish colour rather than red or orange; And the boy ran.

    His courage was spent, his fear overtook him, and he ran. He heard Graumin shout after him, call for him to stay near, but the boy didn’t even look back. His short legs were pumping, his boots sloshing through the ankle-high snow. He didn’t even look behind to see if the spirits were chasing him, he just ran.

    He couldn’t tell for how long he ran, but his legs were tired and his breathing was heavy. It was only then that reality gripped him once more, as he realized that he could see nothing at all. So full of fear, he had been running through the pitch black forest, only sheer luck saving him from a collision with one of those old, gnarled, and very solid trees. But as soon as that thought passed through his head, his foot caught on an exposed tree root, his balance failed him, and he stumbled forward. His momentum carried him to the ground, his head slamming against the base of an ancient willow.

    He couldn’t see to stand up again, the night was so black. And his body felt weak and powerless in any case. He slowly lifted an arm and ran his fingers along the side of his head. He couldn’t see the blood on his hand, but he could feel it. It was wet and cold, just like his body.

    He glanced back in the direction that he had come, but he couldn’t see the golden light. He had left his master far behind, to fend for himself against those strange foes. The boy was overcome with a sudden sense of shame – he had abandoned his elder, he had shown cowardice.

    He lay back on the soft, snowy ground. His head was bleeding, his body immobile. He was tired, so tired. And he was a failure. He closed his eyes and waited for the cold night to take him.

    Sasha

    The evening air sparkled with an unnatural quality – the moon was big and round and silver, and the night was doused in a soft, bluish glow that Sasha had never before seen. It was like something out of a fantasy. She stared up into the sky, the stars seeming brighter than usual. The bluish glow was more than enough light for her to see quite clearly, despite the late hour. It even penetrated the forest that backed on to her yard, as she now let her eyes wander between the trees beyond the edge of her mother’s garden.

    She could see a fair distance into the woods before the blackness engulfed those trees farthest away. It was a strange scene, to be sure, as she wasn’t even certain how she came to be in the garden at this hour. She couldn’t remember coming outside at all.

    Sasha walked across the stone path that ran between the plants and flowers. She stopped beside a birdbath, set upon a pedestal, and looked down into the water’s softly rippling surface. Her fingers slid across the smooth ledge of the bath as her eyes settled upon her own reflection. The sky behind her was that same silvery-blue colour, framing her almost silvery-blonde sleek shoulder length hair. She had poignantly pale blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a kind-looking face. She noticed that she was clad in a rather elegant-looking lavender silk gown, which did little to hide her feminine form – a slender and toned athletic body. The gown only added to the strangeness of the evening, as she had no idea why she was wearing a gown outdoors at night.

    Just as she was about to turn and head back towards the house, she noticed something else – something that sounded like music. At first it seemed only the whistling of the wind through the treetops, but suddenly it sounded so much clearer. It was definitely music. And it was definitely coming from the trees. But who could possibly be in the forest playing music in the middle of the night?

    Whether it was her heightening curiosity, or whether she was simply entranced by the sound of the melody, Sasha took a bold step away from the garden and towards the edge of the forest. She was wearing a simple pair of sandals, and she could feel the long blades of grass tickling her feet as she stepped off of the stone path. She took one step, and then another, and within moments she was pushing back the lower branches of the closest trees, trying better to peer into the great woods. The forest was darker than the garden, but as she had noted before, the strange bluish light penetrated the boughs well enough that she could navigate the towering trees.

    Her neck was craned, her eyes straining for some sign of the mysterious sound. The music was wafting ever clearer into her ears, but she could spy no source. She felt compelled to enter the forest, to seek out the enchanting sounds. She carefully took a step forward, pushing a long branch aside to make way. And despite the long branches and limbs brushing against her, the silken gown didn’t rip or tear. She passed quite easily through the brush and suddenly came upon a clear trail. The path led deeper into the woods and she didn’t hesitate in following it.

    There was a calm breeze sifting between the tree trunks, causing her gown to flutter somewhat, though how the wind made it deep into the woods she wasn’t entirely sure. She continued down the path for some time, always listening intently to the cadence of the music – was it growing louder or softer as she moved? But the sound never seemed to change. She was constantly peering around at her surreal surroundings, the forest seeming almost magical with its bluish glow and silvery beams of moonlight descending from the canopy.

    Sasha walked the forest trail for what felt like an eternity, never seeming to get any closer to the source of the music. In fact, she was quite amazed that she had heard it near her house at all, given how deep into the woods she had now progressed.

    The trees surrounding her were lush and thriving, the forest seeming alive around her. She could smell the fresh scents of various trees and plants, and hear the chirping of crickets and skittering of squirrels along the boughs. And on any other occasion, she might have paused to better take in the environment, but the entrancing music called to her, beckoned her to seek it out. And she wasn’t easily deterred.

    After many more minutes, and seemingly no more progress, Sasha felt suddenly exhausted, felt the sudden compulsion to sit and rest. She noticed a large rock beside the trail, taller than her knees, and just the right height for her to take a seat. The rock was cool and mossy, and she could sense the coldness through the thin fabric of her gown – she found it quite refreshing.

    As Sasha sat there, thoughts drifting along with the constant melodious hum in the air, she heard a more immediate sound behind her. She turned around with subtle apprehension, her implacable calm breaking for the first time since entering the woods. And she was surprised to see herself face to face with a forest creature – a pair of dark, beady eyes were staring right back at her, only a few feet from where she sat. The eyes belonged to a small doe, her nose twitching gently as she sniffed out Sasha’s scent. The animal’s fur was soft and sleek and the sight of her brought a wide smile to Sasha’s face.

    Hi there, Sasha whispered.

    The doe blinked several times and Sasha went so far as to ever-so-carefully stretch out an arm, hoping to pet the beautiful creature. Sasha’s hand closed in on that innocent face, slender fingers outstretched, and for several moments it seemed that the doe was going to let Sasha touch her. And then in a second, the doe was gone. Sasha heard only the sound of hooves galloping off through the brush. She let out a sigh, feeling as though she had overstepped and scared the doe away.

    Disappointed, she turned her head back towards the path, ready to resume her journey deeper into the forest. And as her eyes came about, she saw another animal standing much too close to her – mere feet from where she sat was a large wolf, teeth bared. Unlike the soft, dark eyes of the doe, the wolf’s eyes were cold and hard, and they were staring right through her. The wolf seemed big to her, though having never seen a wolf before, she couldn’t rightly say. But her reaction was immediate – she skittered backwards across the stone, tumbling right over the back of it and onto the ground.

    She glanced back up to see that the wolf was now perched atop the rock, where she had been sitting only moments before. Its sleek coat of gray fur shone strangely in the mixture of silvery moonlight and bluish hue of the night forest. Though its teeth were bared, it made no move to attack her. But that didn’t calm her down any. Sasha’s heart was beating quite fast, her breathing coming in short bursts. She tried to crawl away from the beast, to get as far away from it as she could. The strange melody of the forest was nothing but an afterthought now, as her survival instincts had kicked in. She knew she would never outrun the wolf, and she knew that she probably couldn’t fight it off should it come after her. Her thoughts whirled madly in her mind – what was she to do? She took one more look back at the snarling face, the long, pointed snout.

    And the next thing she knew, she was awake, sitting up in her bed, her chest heaving with laboured breaths. Her head shot around, her eyes scanning her bedroom for the pale eyes of the wolf. But they were nowhere to be seen.

    She leapt out of her bed and over to the window, which overlooked the garden. She flung the curtains wide, and the window was open. There was no silvery moonlight, only the dull yellow glow of the moon high in the night sky. And as she looked over the vast, dark forest, she could see only the blackened outline of the treetops. There was no strange blue aura, no illumination of any kind – only the dark, quiet night, the silence interrupted occasionally by the soft rustle of branches in the evening breeze.

    * * *

    Sasha spent most of the morning sitting in the garden, staring aimlessly at the many, many trees that encroached upon her yard. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the realness of that dream from her head. Not only could she remember the dream, which was rare to begin with, but she could remember every detail vividly. She had even spent the last hour humming the strange forest melody out loud.

    Sasha!

    Sasha turned to see her mother’s head poke out the slightly ajar door. Her mother had similarly pale blonde hair and pale blue eyes. As the door opened, Sasha could smell the scent of freshly baked cookies wafting into the garden – chocolate chip, most likely.

    Are you coming in for lunch, Sasha? her mother asked. You’ve been out there so long, what are you doing? And it’s chilly out, you should be wearing a sweater.

    Without waiting for a response, her mother’s head disappeared inside the house once more. Sasha just sighed and moved towards the door, taking a last glance over her shoulder at the ominous forest.

    Sasha entered the house, the garden door opening into a nook off of the kitchen, where her mother was now standing over the counter laying out the bread for a pair of sandwiches. The kitchen was spacious and had a rustic feel to it – which was appropriate given the rural setting of their new home.

    Whatever were you doing out there, Sasha? her mother asked, without even bothering to look at her.

    Nothing, really, Sasha replied, moving towards the table to take a seat, the smell of the freshly baking cookies was drifting tantalizingly through the kitchen.

    Nothing? It’s not a very nice day out to be doing nothing, dear.

    Sasha didn’t respond. It was indeed cloudy and cool, but she had just felt the need to gaze over the forest – she couldn’t rightly tell her mother about her dream, though. She could almost hear her mother telling her not to be silly, dreams are dreams.

    So the pair sat in silence, eating their lunch, Sasha quite content to be lost in her thoughts. But she knew that the silence wouldn’t last forever.

    Have you made any new friends, dear? Sasha’s mother asked as she cleared away the dirty plates.

    How would I have made new friends? Sasha said. The nearest house is half a mile down the road.

    Well, I thought you’d been going into town now and then. Surely a pretty girl like you must attract some attention. You haven’t met any boys?

    No, mother. I haven’t.

    Well come now, her mother pressed, as she by the oven, pulling the tray of cookies from within. You’re nineteen years old, you can’t go through life without any friends.

    I had friends, Sasha muttered. But I had to leave them all behind.

    Sasha heard a clatter and turned her head to look towards her mother – the tray of cookies had been slammed into the counter and several cookies were even lying broken on the floor. Sasha looked a little surprised.

    Do you think this is easy for me? her mother said, and Sasha couldn’t tell if the woman was angry or sad. What did you expect me to do? Just stay in that house? Without your father?

    No…

    I know it was selfish of me to ask you to move here with me. I know that, Sasha, believe me. But I can’t do this without you. I can’t do it alone.

    Her mother turned to look at her and Sasha could see the tears rimming her eyes.

    I know, mom, Sasha said, and she gave a little half smile. I get it, I do. But please, just don’t push me. I’ll meet new people when I meet them. The town’s not very big, you know, and there aren’t many people my age.

    I saw a young man about your age…

    Mom!

    Sasha’s mother smiled this time, and so did Sasha.

    I know this is an odd place to start over, Sasha, her mother said. Out in the middle of nowhere, in this big, old house. But I had to do it. And I’m just glad that you’re with me.

    I’m glad too, mom.

    * * *

    Sasha was standing in the middle of the forest, the strange bluish glow illuminating the area surrounding her. She looked up and saw the silver outline of the moon high above, through the gaps in the branches and treetops. She couldn’t recall how she had ended up here – was she dreaming again?

    There was a small stream that ran alongside the path upon which she stood. She glanced down into the stream and noted her reflection – she was again wearing that same elegant lavender gown, the same small sandals upon her feet.

    And then she heard it. The soft forest melody filled her ears once more, that slow, enchanting song that had so entranced her only a few nights previous. It seemed more distant and yet closer to her all at once. She stood there for several long moments, carefully trying to discern the direction from which the music came. She made up her mind and started off down the path, determined not to let it elude her this night.

    The trickling water of the stream only added to the beautiful melody. Sasha walked alongside the stream, constantly glancing into the trees on either side of the path. She seemed to walk along for ages before something finally caught her eye – it looked like some sort of light coming from a clearing not that far ahead. She paused for a moment – was this really such a good idea? What if there was someone up ahead?

    Despite her trepidation, she did continue on, albeit a little more carefully. Her neck craned a little as she tried to peer through the limbs and branches in the direction of the light. She assumed that it was some sort of campfire, and as she grew closer she could see that that was the case. The melody flowed freely into her ears this close, no longer the strange, haunting music that drifted distantly through the forest. She stepped off the beaten trail, pushing a few branches away and walking into the brush – given the presence of the music, she didn’t think that her soft footsteps would be noticed.

    She was able to press even closer, hidden away behind the thick undergrowth. She could make out a tent now, but not the type of tent that she might have seen at a camping ground – this looked like a very primitive tent, made of the hide of some animal and sewn together with coarse thread. The fire was flickering away, and the player of the music had his back to her – she assumed it was a man given that he wore no shirt and his arms were reasonably muscled. She moved a little ways to the side, to try and get a better vantage point. She felt a little awkward, peeking through the trees at some unwary man, but she thought it more prudent than announcing her presence.

    The man appeared to be playing some sort of wooden flute. And once she saw his fingers moving nimbly over the instrument’s holes, the music again stole her thoughts. It seemed so natural to this strange place, so fitting with the dull bluish hue that permeated the forest. She even closed her eyes for a moment to let the sound sink in, feeling it, enjoying it with all of her body.

    And then it was gone. The music was no more, replaced only by the soft chirps of nearby crickets and the quiet rustling of leaves in the night breeze. She opened her eyes – the campfire was still flickering away, but the man had disappeared. Surprised, she turned and looked behind her. And staring back were the familiar cold, hard eyes of a wolf, perhaps even the same wolf that she had encountered once before.

    Her heart raced, but the wolf made no move toward her, its teeth not bared. Rather than the snarl that it had sported upon their last meeting, the wolf now bore an inquisitive look, appraising her as though she did not belong in this place. Her breaths were coming in quick bursts and she found herself backing slowly away, hoping to take advantage of the animal’s odd behaviour. Instead she backed right into something hard.

    Spinning around, she now found herself face to face with a man, likely the man from the campsite. He was staring at her with a similar questioning expression. His face was rugged, but had a handsome quality to it – he seemed not much older than her upon first glance, and yet his face exuded the experience of many years. His eyes were a soft blue, not unlike her own, and his hair was shaggy and unkempt, tossed lazily about his shoulders. His shirt was still missing, and she couldn’t help glancing over his lithe torso, admiring the tight musculature of his physique. He was slender and wiry, but the strength of his muscles was apparent, despite their lack of bulk.

    S-sorry… Sasha muttered, and tried to back away from the man this time, only to remember that the wolf that was waiting behind her.

    But when she turned to look back at the wolf, the creature was gone. And then she spun back to face the man, but he was gone as well. And then Sasha found herself again sitting up in her bed, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from her brow.

    * * *

    Sasha spent most of the morning sitting in the garden, staring aimlessly at the many, many trees that encroached upon her yard. But this time, instead of heading in for lunch, she moved towards the trees. There was no bluish illumination emanating from the forest, like in her dream. In fact, the place seemed far less mystical and magical, and more damp and dreary. But her curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she pushed through the outer edge of the undergrowth and stepped into the woods. She felt one branch pull against the sweater that she wore – she couldn’t remember any of the branches cutting into her in her dreams, despite the minimal protection that the elegant gown had provided her.

    Sasha knew that there was a trail not too far into the forest. Despite not having any close neighbours, there were still enough people who lived in the area – which sat on the outskirts of a small town – that people sometimes walked their dogs, or rode their bicycles, along the trails within. And soon enough she found one such path, happy to be out of the brush and onto an open road, able to better appreciate the nature about her now that it wasn’t poking into her body.

    She took a good look around, trying to place herself – could she remember this area from her dream? She wasn’t really sure, and there was no music here to guide her. So she just shrugged and headed off down the path in a random direction. She figured that if she were meant to find her way, she would.

    She walked for some time, not really recognizing anything in particular. And then she came upon a small, trickling stream. Was it the same stream she had encountered the night before? She couldn’t be certain, but it seemed a good sign. So she followed the path farther, the stream slowly running along beside her. And as she glanced around, she started to notice things, small things – the shape of a tree trunk here, or the placement of a large rock there – that she could recognize. Her spirits seemed to jump – could it really be possible that the forest from her dreams was the same as the forest she now walked?

    Given the sudden familiarity, she knew that she would soon be upon the small clearing where the campsite had been. She didn’t really expect to find a tent or a fire there, but for some reason she seemed to be pulled in that direction. It just felt right. She even picked up her pace a little, trotting along with a quicker gait, eager to find her way. A few minutes later she was upon the clearing, and surprised to find that there was, in fact, something awaiting her there. But it wasn’t a tent.

    Standing in front of her were a half dozen or so immense rocks, taller than she was, and not much wider. Most of these rocks were lying on their side, on the ground. But two of them were standing straight up, with a third balanced across the tops of the other two, creating something of a doorway. It reminded her of the rocks of Stonehenge, though it didn’t seem to be serving the same purpose – she had read somewhere that Stonehenge was thought to be some sort of calendar, or time measurement system, utilizing the sun. But as she glanced skyward, at the thick canopy above, she realized there was no way that these rocks had anything to do with the sun. At least not now, as they looked quite old – perhaps they were remnants of a time before a forest stood around them.

    She saw that she wasn’t the first person to stumble across these rocks – several people had carved little messages into the stone, some had even spray-painted crude phrases. Across the top rock, which was several feet above her head, there seemed to be some more intricate carvings, letters perhaps – though she didn’t recognize them. She took a step closer to get a better look.

    Go ahead. Touch it.

    She gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. Her head shot around and standing behind her was a man – she immediately recognized the soft blue eyes and the shaggy, unkempt hair.

    It was the man from her dream.

    Kelly

    Cool autumn winds whistled through the barren limbs of the surrounding trees, causing them to shake and rattle. Most of the leaves had changed colour and fallen from their branches, coating the forest floor in a myriad of dull browns and oranges and yellows. There were scattered groups of firs about, that kept a little of the green colour of the woods intact, but they were sparse at best. Luckily for the couple that now moved carefully through the brush, there was plenty of undergrowth that could provide cover should the need arise.

    One of the two travellers, the woman, stood a little ways ahead of the man, staring off into the distance. She could make out foreign structures in a clearing that was still a far ways off.

    We’re heading the right way, she stated, her auburn hair fluttering in the breeze as she turned her head back to face her companion.

    The burly man snorted – all he could see were more trees.

    I’ll take your word for it, he said, and he moved up to join her, adjusting the weight of the pack that was slung over his shoulders.

    While the woman was reasonably tall, the man still towered over her, his height nearly reaching seven feet, and his body solid and well-muscled. His hair was sheared short, and his face and neck bore several scars, one particularly gruesome keepsake running down the side of his neck and beneath the collar of his leather jerkin.

    The woman, as opposed to her gruff-looking partner, was slender and possessed of many feminine attributes, not the least of which were the delicate features of her face. Her eyes, in particular, were an intriguing sight – they were an almond brown colour, and seemed piercing to any who viewed them.

    How much longer, Kelly? the man grumbled.

    You’d better get used to waiting, Brandt, she replied. This is a scouting mission. You’re not allowed to go charging in there, knocking heads.

    You didn’t answer my question, he persisted.

    Come on, let’s get moving. We want to get closer to town before nightfall.

    Are we really going in there? he asked, as he began walking behind Kelly.

    Of course. Our cloaks are packed away, they’ll have no idea who we are – we can pass for common peasants.

    Brandt didn’t look convinced. The cloaks, which identified them as members of other clans, might be packed away, but there were other ways of discerning enemies.

    I can smell a serpent a mile away, he argued. You don’t think they’ll be able to sense us?

    Kelly just shrugged and kept walking, moving around bushes and tree trunks, trying to keep a reasonable pace.

    * * *

    They reached the small town just as the sun was setting, the bright orange and red hues of the sunset visible over the tops of the many nearby trees. Kelly glanced around the town, noting that it was much the same as many other towns she had ventured into in her time. There were homes made of wood with straw-thatched roofs. There were businesses, armouries and merchants and the like, often made of stronger materials, like stone with wooden roofs. The place had started as a village, built in a clearing of the forest, beside a small river. But as the population swelled, Kelly could see where the tree line was cut back, trees cleared away to make room for more buildings and dirt roads.

    People milled all about them, many heading home after a hard day’s work, many more heading to a nearby inn or tavern. Kelly hated venturing into civilization like this – people were dirty, and the smell of towns and cities assaulted her. She much preferred the solitude and fresh air of the forest. Although, she had to admit, the basic dress and scent of the rabble made it easy enough to fit in unnoticed – prior to entering the town, she and Brandt had thrown on ragged travelling cloaks and smeared their tunics with a bit of mud and dirt. It seemed to be working.

    And then she glanced behind her and wondered if any amount of disguise would help – despite the non-descript appearance of his garb, Brandt was still nearly seven feet tall, and towered over the men and women that he was passing on the street. He kept his head bowed, trying not to draw much attention to himself, but it was no use. Everyone that he passed gaped at his size. Children even pulled on the arms of their guardians and pointed openly. Kelly had to hide her smile as she watched their reactions.

    They walked for some time before settling on a particular inn, having tried to locate what seemed like the least busy establishment. Some of the wooden panels on the exterior of the building were rotting away, and there was less loud noise emanating from inside than many of the other taverns they had passed. Kelly inclined her head towards Brandt, indicating that they should give this place a try.

    They entered and found that the inside of the inn was in the same disarray as the exterior – it was clearly not well maintained. But if they had beds and food, that was all that was needed. Even a shabby inn was an upgrade from sleeping on the cold ground.

    Kelly moved into the center of the common area, tables lining each side of where she stood. There were about a dozen or so people seated at the tables, most of them men, and most of them looking rather inebriated. The common room had a high ceiling, rafters visible above, stairs near the wall winding up to the second level. She moved towards the bar, ignoring the few lewd comments that followed her, and hoping very much that Brandt would ignore them as well.

    The barkeep was a stout man, a shaggy beard covering much of his chest. He was in the process of wiping mugs clean with a rag that didn’t seem fit for cleaning much at all.

    We’d like a room for the night, Kelly said, smiling at the man.

    The barkeep didn’t respond right away, eyeing her, and then eyeing her large companion.

    Ten coppers for the night, he grunted, finally, and he hobbled away to retrieve a key from a rack as Kelly reached into her pack for her coin purse.

    Good sir, where can we find the serpent temple in town? Kelly asked when the man returned with their key, and she felt Brandt’s eyes boring holes into the back of her head. We’ve been on the road some time and haven’t had much chance to worship properly.

    The barkeep again narrowed his eyes at her, appraising her. He didn’t speak for several long moments.

    End of the road, he answered, Hang a right, can’t miss it.

    And then he turned and hobbled off with his payment, not wanting to answer any further questions.

    That was risky, Brandt chided once they were safely within the confines of their rented room.

    Just testing our disguises, Kelly said with a shrug. Didn’t you say that you could smell a serpent a mile away?

    I’m not a common peasant, he snarled. And if we go into a serpent temple, we’re likely to find serpents that aren’t common peasants either. It was still risky.

    I’m sure you could have handled a fat, old innkeeper and a room full of drunks without too much trouble.

    You really want to go into a serpent temple?

    I can’t tell if you sound scared or excited, Kelly grinned. And, yes, of course we have to go into the temple – how else are we to complete our mission?

    Brandt moved towards the side of the bed, one of only two pieces of furniture in the small room – the other being a worn-looking dresser with a drawer missing. He pulled his travelling cloak up over his head and tossed it to the floor.

    And what do we do if the serpents in the temple do recognize us? he asked.

    Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something.

    She watched him smirk as he approached her, grabbing each side of her waist in his large hands. Though Kelly was a tall and athletic woman, Brandt had no trouble lifting her off the ground with ease and holding her up so that she was looking down at him.

    My, my, she said, Always so frisky when you think there’s a fight coming.

    She smiled and ran a finger along the side of his face, tracing one of his nastier scars. He didn’t reply, but just pulled her closer and pressed his mouth against hers, her lips parting slightly and letting his tongue press in. She returned his kiss eagerly and they clung together for several minutes, tongues entwined, dancing together.

    Her feet touched the ground as he set her down once more and moved to undo his leather jerkin. She lifted her own cloak over her head and tossed it aside, her tunic following in short order. Her torso was bared to him, an invitation he never refused, and she soon felt his rough hands fondling her ample bosom. Though her breasts were more than a handful for most men, they were a perfect fit for Brandt, one of the many things she loved about him.

    As he entertained himself with the sight of her revealed body, she looked upon his own treasures – the signs of honour and battle that scattered his large form. The scars were many, and they had many sources – swords, knives, arrows, any sort of weapon a man could devise, Brandt had likely felt the sting of. Many women found his scars off-putting, even grotesque. But Kelly adored them. She loved to run her hands along his more gruesome lines, her soft fingers embracing the once torn skin.

    She suddenly felt his lips wrap around one of her sensitive nipples, suckling it gently, and her fingers instinctively dug into his back.

    Maybe we should save our energy, she half-heartedly suggested. We wouldn’t want to be too worn out if we run into trouble later.

    Brandt simply laughed aloud and threw her down on the bed.

    * * *

    Kelly stood at the window, looking out at the black sky, Brandt still sprawled out on the bed behind her. The moon was full and bright, its light reflecting off of her glistening torso, her breasts hanging against the window ledge. Judging by the moon’s height in the sky, it was nearly midnight - it was nearly time.

    Are you ready? she asked, without turning away from the window.

    She heard a grunt from the bed and she smiled. When was Brandt not ready for a potential fight? But in this case, a fight was the last thing she wanted to find.

    We need to get dressed, she added, finally turning and moving back into the room proper.

    She went straight for her pack and pulled out a pair of emerald silk cloaks, each emblazoned with the emblem of the Serpent Clan – silver stitching that depicted a coiled snake, ready to strike. Brandt looked at the cloaks uneasily.

    I’d rather be wearing my bear, he stated. But he picked the cloak up anyway.

    Kelly nodded her agreement. There was something foul about putting these cloaks on. But this was all part of the mission – it was the best way to blend in.

    She watched as Brandt rolled out of the bed, his manhood dangling between his thick thighs, the many more scars that adorned his torso clearly visible in the soft illumination of the room. He stared a moment at the serpent cloaks and then snorted as he reached down to collect his breeches from the floor.

    What’s the world come to? he asked. Bears and eagles hide among serpents. Why can’t we just kill them all and be done with it?

    A sigh escaped Kelly’s lips, though she knew that the big man was only half serious – he couldn’t possibly kill an entire town full of serpents himself. Even though most of the town’s residents were just common peasants – farmers and labourers, merchants and tradesmen – there were certain to be enough devout followers of the Serpent Clan to pose a rather significant threat to the two companions.

    Let’s get it over with then, Brandt muttered as he pulled the cloak on over his now-clothed body. Kelly nodded and tossed her own cloak on atop the robe she now wore.

    Several minutes later the pair was walking down the dark street. There were still numerous taverns and inns open, jubilant noises emanating from most. But Kelly and Brandt passed by the buildings more or less unnoticed. They wandered the streets, following the basic directions they had received from the innkeeper – there usually lay a temple of some sort near the centre of a town.

    Most towns started as nothing more than simple temples or monasteries. Folks had the good sense to live in groups, and the various religious centres often provided some degree of shelter and food, so other buildings and farms often sprung up around the temples. Small communities became villages, and villages grew into towns. This particular town was still on the smaller side – it seemed to be home to about a thousand people or so. Kelly had no idea what it was even called, it was simply another of the nameless towns that they had come across since entering the Serpent Clan’s territory.

    Given the brightness of the moon, Kelly expected to find the temple crowded. And while that might be a bad thing – being among more of their enemies – she hoped it would simply make it easier for them to blend in. There were sure to be unfamiliar faces around on nights like this.

    And then they came around a bend and were upon the temple itself. Kelly had never seen a Serpent temple in person before, only heard about them. There were large stone slabs marking the entrance, as was the case with all the clans, but the serpents were different in that there was no building behind the rocks. There was just a hole in the ground. The serpents called their temples coils, as they were dug into the ground, spirals that descended downward like the coils of a snake. She had heard that the coils could be quite expansive and she was eager to see for herself.

    Brandt flashed her a look of apprehension as he placed his foot onto the first downward-leading step. She knew that he was more comfortable in the outdoors, closer to nature. He didn’t like enclosed spaces. He didn’t even like spending more time than he had to in his own clan’s cavern fortress. But he was nothing if not brave, and he led the way down into the coil, Kelly right behind him.

    They followed the winding, torch-lit steps, the spirals growing longer and wider as they progressed, and they must have been more than twenty feet underground before they came to an open chamber.

    The place smelled stale and decrepit and the room was crowded, several dozen people standing eerily still, all wearing black robes, hoods drawn, the same silver snake emblazoned on their emerald cloaks. Kelly and Brandt exchanged looks as they surmised the scene. There was a huge bonfire burning in the centre of the room, the ceiling being ten or twelve feet high. Large stone columns were placed strategically throughout the room to aid in holding the earthen ceiling in place. Beyond the bonfire was a stone altar, not unlike the ones that she and Brandt worshipped at with their own clans – the only difference being that a naked man was tied down to this altar, his squirming limbs clearly indicating his desire to not be there.

    Brandt took a bold step forward and Kelly had to reach out and grab his wrist. Her look told him unequivocally that they were not to intervene – only to observe. His arm tensed

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